


Littoral Matters

by Island_of_Reil



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Bad Puns, Crack, Double Entendre, F/F, F/M, Gen, Greater Barizheise Armfish, Naïve Maia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 00:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: Maia finally meets his Aunt Shaleän and her wife Doretho and asks Shaleän about her seafaring life. He doesn’t understand half the things they say in reply, although Csethiro seems to have no trouble following the discussion. Also, the air in the Tortoise Room is terribly dry, making poor Csevet and Cala cough repeatedly.





	Littoral Matters

**Author's Note:**

> We blame [farevenasdecidedtouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/farevenasdecidedtouse) for this.

“Serenity,” murmured the tall, straight-backed, broad-shouldered woman who stood before Maia and Csethiro in the Tortoise Room. She then sank to her knees, the tails of her long, heavy jacket flaring about her hips as she knelt. It was not of a design Maia had ever seen before, but it was surpassingly handsome in its dashing cut, its bright brass buttons, and the relative sparseness of gold embroidery against the crisp black wool. To his surprise — it was not an Ethuverazheise custom — she took his heavily ringed right hand in hers and kissed his knuckles once. “We are your half-aunt Shaleän Sevraseched, and we are delighted to finally make your acquaintance. And yours as well, Zhasan.”

Beside her knelt another woman, slighter in build but just as erect of carriage. “As are we, Serenity, Zhasan,” she said. “We are Shaleän’s wife Doretho.” She was not quite as dark as her spouse, perhaps half a shade lighter than Maia, and her eyes were red instead of yellow. Her garb was a pale-blue Barizheise gown that, while not current with Cetheise fashion, complemented her coloring and her figure beautifully.

“Please, do rise,” Maia said, and his aunt and her wife unfolded gracefully up from the carpet. “We are extremely pleased to be making your acquaintances ourself,” he added wholeheartedly.

By now, a full year after his coronation, he had met all his other half-aunts. But for most of that year Shaleän had been sailing well beyond the Chadevan Sea, in lands untouched by ice and snow. A letter from her father the Great Avar had reached her in one of her regular ports of call that summer. In the autumn she’d returned north to Solunee-over-the-water, put her ship in dry dock, and made plans to travel with Doretho by airship to the Untheileneise Court. Merrem Esaran had assigned them a suite across from that of Captain and Nadeian Vizhenka, and they were as pleased to be reunited with them as they were to finally meet Maia.

“Your gifts to us,” Csethiro said in the plural, “have been lovely and thoughtful. The tiger’s-eye necklace and earrings in particular.”

“Zhasan,” Shaleän said, tilting her head, seeming quite satisfied by the compliment.

“We thank you for the spices and the golden Anverneise wine as well,” Maia said. “Csevet, have you and Merrem Esaran passed those along to Dachensol Ebremis?”

“We have, Serenity. He was most delighted with them, and tonight he intends to cook with the former and serve the latter.” There was a trace of fond amusement in Csevet’s dry professional tone, as if he were describing a small child presented with several new toys.

“We are curious to hear your opinions on the uses of such foodstuffs in the hands of an accomplished Ethuverazheise chef, Captain and Merrem Sevraseched,” Csethiro remarked.

Shaleän inclined her head again. “However he chooses to ply them, we are sure that a chef who has served two emperors will acquit himself well with them.”

“We agree with our dear wife,” said Doretho.

“And we share your confidence,” Maia said. “We hope, too, that you will recount some of your seafaring adventures as accompaniment to his masterpiece.”

“Ah,” Shaleän said with a smile. “Our stories are not quite as interesting as, say, those written by Carcethlened. We are a merchant mariner, and thus our days are taken up with the mundane details of trade, not with swordfights or buried treasure.”

“We see,” Csethiro said, a touch of disappointment in her tone.

“But surely, your days on the seas are not completely dull,” Maia pressed. “One need not read the tales of Carcethlened to hear that seamen — and seawomen, we suppose — live fascinating lives. You must meet all sorts of different peoples, with their diverse customs and distinct geographies.” In sooth, he had “heard” much of this from one of Kevo’s blue-backed novels, but what little he had actually heard at court had not much shaken this initial impression.

“Well, Serenity,” Shaleän said. There was a glint in her pale-amber eyes that had not been there before. “We must say that, generally speaking, we prefer to avoid seamen.”

“You do?” Maia said, frowning in puzzlement.

“Indeed we do. While we are hardly a delicate creature, men who sail the sea can often be shockingly coarse in their deportment. We must say, we do not care for the saltiness of seamen.”

There was a stifled cough to Maia’s left, where Csevet stood. Of a certainty, the air of the Alcethmeret was as dry as it was cold at this time of year. Maia did hope that was all it was, rather than an incipient grippe on Csevet’s part.

“Well,” Doretho said, with a mysterious note of mischief in her voice, “we _do_ make an exception for the little man in the boat.”

“Oh. Of course,” Shaleän said, and her eyes were positively gleaming now. “How could we forget to mention such a good friend of ours?”

“‘The little man in the boat’?” Maia repeated, not following this turn of conversation.

“Yes, Serenity,” Shaleän said. “We know him well. He spends his days diving for pearls.”

“He is quite the expert when it comes to oysters and mussels,” Doretho said.

“And conch shells,” Shaleän added. Maia was confused; he knew that oysters yielded pearls, but he had not heard that either mussels or conches did.

Csethiro did not seem to share his befuddlement; a corner of her mouth, in fact, had turned up. “So, Captain Sevraseched—” she began.

“Please, Zhasan, we are Aunt Shaleän to you, and, we hope, to His Serenity as well.”

“Aunt Shaleän,” Csethiro repeated dutifully. “Please do feel free to call us ‘Cousin Maia’ and ‘Cousin Csethiro,’ then. If you don’t mind the question, would you then say that this fellow has an intimate knowledge of littoral matters?”

Two coughs now, one coming from Cala’s direction this time. Maia would have to ask Esaran to place bowls of steaming water in various rooms around the Alcethmeret to improve the humidity somewhat.

“Most certainly, he does, Cousin Csethiro,” Shaleän said evenly. “He plies his trade three weeks out of every month, and works ashore the fourth.”

“To avoid the red tide, we presume?” Csethiro asked mildly. There was yet another quiet cough from Csevet again.

“You presume correctly, cousin,” Shaleän said. “In general, we prefer to commune with the creatures of the sea, rather than encounter seamen.”

“‘Commune’ with them? Would that not put you in peril of drowning?” Maia asked, feeling quite bewildered by now.

“Well, Cousin Maia, we are careful and selective about which forms of marine life we interact with,” Doretho said. “Cods, cockleshells, sea cucumbers — we have no truck with any of those.”

“Oh, of course you wouldn’t,” Csethiro agreed.

“Naturally, if one avoids the mangroves, one avoids most of those,” Shaleän observed.

Though he felt completely out of his depth now, Maia asked, “So … what creatures do you prefer to ‘commune’ with?”

“Mainly, cousin, the Greater Barizheise Armfish,” Shaleän said. “We keep one in the tidal pool behind our house.”

“Are those not dangerous?” Maia asked. “We’ve heard they sometimes grab seafarers unawares and —” His face and ears grew hot as he recalled a tale recounted in a _particularly_ scandalous blue-backed novel that Kevo had kept even better hidden than the rest. It was certainly not an appropriate tale for the occasion. “— and strangle or drown them,” he finished. It was not a complete lie, as there were other, less-salacious tales to that effect.

“Oh, their danger is greatly exaggerated for dramatic purposes,” Doretho said. “In fact, they can be tamed quite easily, and they are friendly, playful creatures who, with proper care and feeding, make excellent pets.”

“Indeed,” Shaleän said, “our armfish, Cathulahu, is of great comfort to Doretho when we are away at sea.” 

Maia thought he heard a quiet snort from Cala’s direction this time, but he ignored it. “We are happy to have finally met you both,” he said, “but at the moment we cannot linger. The rest of our day is quite busy. We will look forward to seeing both of you at dinner.”

“If you will forgive the question, cousin, what does your chef plan to serve as the main course?” Doretho asked politely.

“Er. Csevet?” Maia looked imploringly at his secretary.

Csevet’s face was impressively neutral as he said, with an odd note of glee in his voice, “Crabs.”

The fresh noise issuing from Cala’s direction sounded more as though he had choked on a crumb than as though he were coughing. “Maza, are you all right?” Maia asked in alarm.

“Yes, Serenity,” Cala replied, his voice tight and — was it shaking somewhat? “We are fine. Please forgive our untoward outburst.”

As if the aforementioned outburst had never occurred, Csethiro said to both Shaleän and Doretho — with the sedateness that befit an empress, but with an animated look in her eyes — “As much as does our husband, we greatly anticipate your stimulating dinnertime conversation.”

Both women bowed, grinning broadly, and were gone. Csevet said, his tone still unlike his usual crisp one and his eyes glistening a bit, said, “The Corazhas awaits you, Serenity.”

Maia rose and offered Csethiro his arm. “Shall we?”

They exited the Tortoise Room with Csevet behind them and Cala and Beshelar bringing up the rear. Maia could have sworn he heard yet another “untoward” noise from Cala — and then a grunt of pain, as if the maza had caught an elbow in the side. Following this, Maia thought he could hear Beshelar muttering under his breath, “We are surrounded by overgrown michen.”


End file.
